Claire's Dilemma
by Unimaginativeauthor
Summary: One shot, what Claire/Vino would do if Chane died


**A one shot I did about what would happen if Chane died. It kinda sucks...**

The white of the interrogation room sets my teeth on edge and makes me nervous, despite how familiar it is.  
"Claire Stanfield?" I ask, and mentally kick myself for phrasing the statement as a question. The young man seated in the interrogation chair looks up at me and grins. He has deep red hair, pale skin and hazel eyes. His friendly smile holds no hint of malice or cruelty, and I wonder briefly how a man like this could have possibly taken so many lives without a single qualm. I have been told of his disturbingly calm manner, but it still manages to increase my discomfort.  
"I haven't been called that in a while now" he says thoughtfully,  
"I kinda prefer The Rail Tracer as my title, though I do like Vino, Chane always said it suited me."  
As soon as he says the name Chane I see his face darken slightly and the carefree smile he wears slips slightly, but the moment quickly passes and once again he seems completely at ease, as if we were discussing the weather rather than his most recent killing spree.  
Vino.  
The word sends me reeling.  
The name is the one given to the freelance assassin that has been devastating the country for years. I look at him again and try to understand how this man could possibly be the monster who is most famous for caking everything, including himself with his victim's blood.  
At the same time however, I am slightly relieved. If this man is truly Vino, then that means there isn't more than one maniac running round the country killing innocent people in both brutal and gruesome ways.  
"You've already admitted to the murder of seven people, correct?" I ask, my voice becoming stiff and firm in an attempt to hide my fear of the monster before me.  
"Oh yeah, them" he scratched his head, frowning slightly,  
"Well they did kinda deserve it, it was more revenge than murder if ya know what I mean"  
"No I don't" I answered crisply, though his words have piqued my interest. I desperately want to understand how this man could possibly rationalize such brutal murders.  
"Well they were all part of the mafia weren't they?" His words surprise me slightly, whatever reason I had expected for those murders, I had not expected this.  
"So you killed them for crimes you suspected they had committed?" My voice remains cold.  
"That among other things" he answers lightly.  
I wonder if he had known that one of the victims had been held for questioning about the events regarding The Flying Pussyfoot.  
"There is one victim that almost definitely has no connection to the mafia, the young woman you killed that was part of a rum-running gang. I don't see how she has any connection at to the rest of the murders, yet it was her body you were found with when you confessed to the murders of the others.  
To my surprise he starts to laugh, and once again I am disconcerted by the normalcy of his manner.  
"I never touched Chane, why would I? I loved that girl so damn much,"  
The words catch me completely off guard. The idea of Vino, the great assassin, having a lover is something I can't quite comprehend.  
"It was them, those monsters that took her out of my world."  
His words break me out of my reverie, and back to the present. His hands are clenched in fists and his eyes seem almost to gleam red. He looks up at me again and smiles, though it is not the nonchalant one he wore before, but instead seems both viscous and unhinged. It appears I am getting a glimpse at what the great assassin is like on the job.  
"She could have easily taken that Ladd Russo, especially while he was missing a hand, but she was attack by six of those Russo's, and that Graham nutter to boot."  
"That bloody white suit, Ladd Russo." He shook his head slightly, as though the man was a simple inconvenience rather than the man who he claimed had taken the life of the only person he seemed to care about.  
"I thought I killed him when I made him jump off that train" he continued,  
"But I should have known such a cockroach wouldn't die that easily."  
He spoke so calmly about it all that it was almost disturbing.  
"So you were the one responsible for all the murders on The Flying Pussyfoot?" I ask, my mouth dry.  
"Well not all of them, I only killed those white suits and black suits that were trying to kill off the rest of the passengers," he answers lightly,  
" I might have killed a few people that didn't completely deserve it, but I wasn't in the best mood at the time, ya see, some of those white suits killed off Tony. He was a really great guy, teaching me to drive the train and all, so I was pretty angry."  
This man has managed to destroy all my previous assumptions of him. It is as though he keeps on showing me just enough of himself to form an opinion of him, and then he revels something else that crushes any weak hypothesis I have managed to create.  
"Who was this Chane?" I ask. My voice has lost its previous harshness and shakes slightly as I speak. I'm not exactly sure whether I pity the man before me, or if I am simply terrified out of my wits.  
"Who was Chane? I have no idea!"  
Dammit, why can't this man give me a straight answer for once?  
"I don't quite understand what you're trying to say," my voice has regained its previous stiffness.  
He frowned, trying to put his thoughts in order before answering,  
"I've always thought this world was just some mad dream of mine, and it's always kinda played out like that. Anything I wish for happens, I can do anything and I know I'm never going to die unless I choose to, but I don't think I'm imaginative enough to have made up someone like Chane. I still remember when I first met her; it was on The Flying Pussyfoot. The note she left, the way she was fighting to death with that white suit, her expressionless face never saying a word." He trails off, burying his face in his hands, in what could only be described as bashfulness.  
"I think she might have even started to love me back, or at least consider me as a friend," he trails off sadly, but as soon as he has finished his smile has returned.  
Before I can stop him, he's summersaulted from the chair onto the table, despite the fact his hands are handcuffed firmly behind his back. I nearly fall off my chair in surprise. I think I'm going to need to get my heart checked after this.  
He begins talking as though he is addressing an audience, and his tone is verging on theatrical.  
"So I've decided that now she's gone, it's time to wake up. I'm pretty sure I didn't just imagine her, so maybe she'll come back in my next dream. I'm getting the death sentence right?" he looks at me his smile back and his face as warm and friendly as ever.  
I am at a complete loss for words. Whatever I had expected the assassin that went by the name Vino to be, I had never considered the thought of him being a solipsistic but it somehow seemed appropriate. How else could this seemingly normal man be able to rationalize so many brutal and to all appearances unnecessary murders?  
Suddenly I realize something,  
"You let them capture you didn't you."  
I am almost angry at the sheer cockiness of the man before me.  
"Well yeah" he answers awkwardly.  
"Suicide would be pretty dull, and letting a bunch of people kill me, well, I don't really think my pride could allow that. So I would kinda prefer to get killed with everyone knowing who I am and what I've done. I mean I've saved hundreds of lives by killing the people I've killed, so I may as well take the credit." He grins at me, his face once again open and friendly,  
"So anyway, how about those gallows?"


End file.
